The Sin That is Lust
by raincoatandaxe
Summary: There are taboos that exist only to be cleaved down by the most atrociously lustful of people. A series of increasingly, disturbingly smutty one-shots involving Draco Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange.
1. Aphrodite Poisons Her Victim

**Alright, I will start off by saying that yes, I know this is a risqué pairing, but I figure if there are people devoted to shipping the Weasley twins, Dracotrix cannot be any worse. :D I personally never shipped anyone from HP until I saw HBP, and the scene where Bellatrix kisses Draco's neck just sort of turned on the fandom (and other things. Hahaha.) **

**Since I am unable to think of a discernible plot involving Draco and Bellatrix, I have decided to write a series of loosely-connected/stand alone one-shots on the pair. I am going to start off with a rather short insight into this ship and from there, work my way into much smuttier scenarios. And I promise, they will be oozing with smut. In every imaginable way. :) **

**And one last note, I will not respond to outcries of incest or anything of the like, because you have a choice whether or not to read this, and unless you have a mature, articulate argument, it isn't worth my time. Oh, and my portrayal of Bellatrix here is largely based on the film version, but with evidence of the book version. **

**________________________________________**

The dining room seems to have taken on the properties of acid, in it's searing, bitter sense. Though no bubbling**, **steaming cauldron is evident, thick smoke appears to hover in the midst of the room; he cannot clearly perceive anything. He is deaf to all of the insolent chatter weaving around him; he could have cotton jambed harshly against his eardrum, for all he hears. He cannot swallow, but even then his spindly, wavering hand clenches tightly around his goblet of butterbeer, spurring the liquid over the sides.

He does not notice the shrill cry from his mother, as the liquid sops the silken linen of the tablecloth, nor does he notice Lucius impertinently thrusting a rag in his face, demanding the mess be cleared away at once.

There is no feast of roast hog or pheasant before him, no indulgent, arrogant faces of some of the most dangerous men and woman in the Wizard world, there is nothing but _her_.

Oh, he has seen her, yes, the photo in the gilded frame on the fire mantle, haphazardly placed, even then her demeanor one of noble standing, a certain knowing lurking just out of sight. He has heard, yes, of her abysmal deeds, her festering insanity.

Yet sat before him, regally, as if she is in _His_ presence, she appears to have not one of the sinister attributes so often prescribed to her. On the contrary, she is quite possibly the most astoundingly beautiful human being he has ever let his eyes linger on.

And as he stares, as something begins to melt inside of him, she catches his gaze. And if only for a moment, he sees everything in her mind that he is seeing in his own:

Dank hallways, her milky skin lustrous as she is bent over a table; clenches of licorice hair in his spindly fingers, nails etching patterns of corruption and reprehensible behavior on his thin skin; secret flesh of the rosiest pink, parted like a dripping fruit; tongues darting like needles in forbidden areas. Oh, there are screams and howls he can hear, sounds that cannot be human in their quality, in the lust they ooze. There are fervent whispers, cries as she redundantly murmurs, "My sweet nephew, oh my darling Draco, my sweet," in his ear. He can taste the rich, brazen flavor of cinnamon on her skin, and inhale the sharp scent of pine and sinister intentions.

His mind has projected these images so clearly to him, that he is shocked when the connection is snipped, and he discovers he amidst the most chaste of situations, only sitting down to family meal, he is only a lonely boy, that he is incapable of bringing his fantasies to existence.

And in discovering all of this, he feels a scorning heat rip over his body, as he notes the insanely tight stretching of his trousers, the beginnings of a hot, blissful warmness prodding his cock to a capacity he cannot cease. He can only shift his chair closer to the table, and turn his thoughts to the glorious spread of food before him that he has no appetite for. But even as his fork parts his lips, he catches the briefest of glances from her once more.

And as his Aunt Bellatrix smiles at him like a deranged Aphrodite, Draco is shattered.

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**Bleh, I'm not sure if I captured that exactly the way I wanted to, but I felt a bit pressured to get this started haha. I have already started on the next one-shot, so it shouldn't be **_**too**_** long, but you never know with me...seeing as I never finished my Sweeney Todd story...:\ **

**Anyways, please let me know what you think, and I do hope in a sick way that this inspires more writers to start shipping this pairing. Because they are so wrongly sexy. :D**


	2. The Siren Unsheathed

**I was going to slowly build up the sexuality of these one-shots, but I decided what the hell, why not dive right in. And so I have produced the first of many horribly smutty incestuous scenarios. **

**The entire seduction idea was inspired by my favorite film of all time, The Wicker Man. The lyrics to the song are from the eerily beautiful and erotic song "Willow's Song" from the same movie. I HIGHLY suggest you watch that film; it's amazing. **

**And no I do not own the lyrics or any thing else from The Wicker man, etc, etc, etc. Except a DVD. And now I shall leave you to enjoy yourselves....;)**

* * *

As the first lulling, sweet note of a hum burrowed itself in his ears, Draco Malfoy felt a certainty that the fragile soul of a siren long dead was calling to him. It was a voice that was born of the long sought after land of milk and honey, a voice which could tame the savagest of beasts into a long slumber. It slipped through the air like a bird sent from the golden heavens, and flowed in his veins.

A soft rapping on the wall across from his bed accompanied the tinkling voice, as the first words were injected in him like sugar in his veins:

_Heigh ho, who is there_

_No one but me my dear_

_Please come say how do_

_The things I'll give to you_

Oh, let the devil take him now, and he would happily dive into the highest flames of Hell, if only the voice filled his ears for eternity. The rhythmic rapping on the wall fell along with the voice, drowning him deeper in enchantment.

_A stroke as gentle as a feather_

_I'll catch a rainbow from the sky _

_And tie the ends together_

_Heigh ho, I am here_

_Am I not young and fair_

_Please come say how do_

_The things I'll show to you_

_Would you have a wondrous sight_

_The midday sun at midnight?_

_Fair maid, white and red_

_Comb you smooth and stroke your head_

The din of the voice grew and swelled, and although the knocking on his wall had ceased, a sharp, suggestive slapping noise had begun. It was only when Draco felt the cool touch of metal in his hand did he realize he had followed the sound, as if pulled along on a string. Such a carnal feeling had burst in him, and it was really no surprise when he noticed the jutting erection on himself.

Turning the doorknob ardently, the luscious, erotic harmony halted, and Draco felt the world split apart. There was no fair maiden, no aphrodisiac siren waiting for him. His temptress was simply his Aunt Bellatrix. She stood before him in all of her flesh and glory, bathed in the champagne hue of a dozen candles. Oh, that wicked smile that curled upon her lips at him, it burned and scorched him with desire.

He should have known all along; his Aunt was by no means sane, and she was the most dangerous of seductresses of all. She consistently threw out her net and preyed upon the men she had caught. She of all people would know the most sinister, forbidden and deadly of love spells, simply to get what she fancied.

And now it appeared that what she wanted was her own nephew. It was inevitable, Draco told himself, that she would make a move eventually. He had seen the syrupy, heavy lashed gazes she threw at him, ever since she had broken free from Azkaban.

He had shrugged off the sweet cooings she laced in his ear, the occasional stroking of his hair like some show dog, the heavy breathed sighs against his neck that sometimes ended in light kisses. She was an amorous woman of the highest level, and alone for fourteen years in a stony cell had not stowed the fire any. She had been eying him, slinking around his legs like a ghostly cat, and she had finally shattered the glass case she had him in.

"Auntie." There was no appropriate words to be spoken at a time like this; Draco simply uttered what was manageable.

"Draco, my sweet. Come here, my precious nephew." Her arms opened wide, inviting him to lay his head against the high, luscious mounds of her breasts. But Draco could not be persuaded, not that easily. Even if the throbbing between his legs advised him to do otherwise, he would not openly consent himself to incest with his Aunt.

But oh, how her flesh looked like the softest, sweetest cream, and the perfume of her room drugged him with it's pine-y scent, it's leather undertones, and something else that lurked and twined him to it. He was unable to stop the quivering of his knees, the thrusting of his heart against his chest, as he stalked to her.

"That's a good boy now, my lovely nephew. Come, let your Auntie Bella show you things that you will be unable to fathom." And the red tongue licked her plumped lips, darting and teasing and _mocking _him, and he wanted to have her, oh God he never felt such a strong feeling before, and he discarded the thought that even now he was probably under an enchantment, as her spindly hands rubbed his buttocks.

And Azkaban really hadn't been so cruel to her after all, Draco suddenly realized, as her plump breasts heaved, with the candy pink nipples sprung out like darts, inviting him to suckle upon them, the sweetest candy of all. And all the while his lips latched onto the creamy point of skin, puckering and springing throaty growls from her throat, her nimble hands wrapped around his cock, fingernails raking the head, Draco's own lips spitting out cries of lust.

Her hands pumped faster and faster, and he let her nipple fall from his lips, as he threw back his head and let himself flow over her hands, dripping on the floor, Bellatrix raising her pallid hands and licking the milky liquid, absolutely purring, rubbing it against her cunt.

And in an act that flowed as smoothly as the most tumultuous of rivers, he grabbed her hips, dumping her writhing assortment of limbs onto the wicked throne of her bed, a place they would forever be bound to in corruption and lust. Even as his hands tried to pry her legs open, his cock stuck up to his belly like an obscene parody of desire, she growled and snarled, pushing his gaunt body back.

"Not so fast, my darling. It's only polite to return the favor your Auntie did for you, is it not?" She cooed like a hellion of a dove, grabbing his head, sliding him down between her soaked thighs, and Draco expected the following minutes to be the hardest of his life, as his cock felt like a block of cement stuck on to him, writhing with a life of it's own.

And he plunged his face into her slippery flesh, parting the flushed, silken lips, latching his lips deftly around the fat bead of skin, all the while Bellatrix calling out in tongues he was unaware she was fluent in, her nails scraping his skull, pushing him faster into her, now absolutely thrusting herself on his face, and he felt the warm drip of liquid flow from her as she came, screaming his name.

He gave her no mercy, no chance to let her breathing steady; he simply shoved himself into her, but he should have known all along, she wouldn't have that, no, she was not submissive. Draco was thrown onto his back, and she shrieked with laughter at the expression etched on his face, and he grabbed at her emaciated hips. She rode him like the devil chasing after all of the highest of saints, on more than one occasion rising up so far as to almost expel him from her, and he thrust up, watching that face, his siren, not a siren at all but a wicked, lustful bawdy shell of a woman. And oh, she was an angel, painted with provisions from the devil himself, those eyes of arcane depths, and a mane of hair colored in with charcoal that fueled Hell's most vicious flames.

All the while she pushed herself up and down on his cock, his hands reached upwards, fondling her falling breasts, cupping them and prodding, any store of sanity in him dried up, as he thought her the most beautiful creature on the planet, this sister of his own mother's.

Their hips met a frenzy as they inched closer to a climax, her buttocks slapping against his thighs as she rode, and oh, how her mouth opened wide, as she let out a guttural shriek, frantic with pleasure as she yelped and called to him, "Oh my darling nephew, oh Draco my sweet," and he heard his voice, tinny and unfocused, joining in her cries as he shot everything he had kept inside for so long, all of it meant for her all along, into her dripping cunt.

Afterwards, laying in her arms like a lap dog, he understood for the first time the fullest extent of the word catharsis, he had given her everything that had unknowingly lurked in him, lust of the gravest sort. There was nothing behind him anymore; what they had done was suicide to any pretense of rationality they may have had. The grass was already growing up around the burden of falsehood he had discarded.

Even as his mind fed him these thoughts, he felt her lips on his neck, wet and toxic, her words jarring him from comfort, as she uttered, "You know, Draco, you really are so much better than your uncle."

* * *

**That was probably the most sexual thing I have ever written, and I had a hell of a great time writing it hahaha. I must admit I loved that last line haha. I did warn everyone in the first chapter that this would be dripping with incest and wrongness, and oh how it is...and I love it. I have many more ideas for this pairing, so keep your panties on. ;) Or not...hahah. **


	3. Ophiophagus hannah

**Oh gosh, I am just terrible at updating, I know. But I made this one longer than I usually write to make up for it, hah. A few notes on this before I shut up haha.**

**This is my first time writing any sort of fan fic in first person, as opposed to third person as I am used to. I do hope I captured who Draco became during his time after the death of Dumbledore, and before the War. I'm not 100% satisifed with how I wrote him, but eh, I never will be haha**

**And most importantly: this is a (late) birthday present to my friend Jo. :D I would probably have taken even longer to write it if I hadn't wanted to finish it for her. And the little "suprise" in here is something I normally wouldn't do, but I wrote it just for her. ;) Happy belated birthday, Randy !hahah I love you, and I do hope you enjoy this lmao. **

**Oh, and to everyone else: just a warning, there are some rather unethical/odd forms of sex in here so...you are warned haha. **

* * *

There is a sudden moment of uncertainty, as I stand in my bedroom doorway, which in itself is an allegory between this pristine moment of innocence and the impending time of heedless curiosity, where I feel guilt smothering me to the point of suffocation. But the feeling annihilates itself quickly enough, and I slink out of the door, through the arcane hallways of Malfoy Manor.

My stomach feels hot and full, yet also strangely empty, as if a balloon has recently been inflated inside of me. My steps are careful and timed, but I feel like a man urged into his first classical waltz, inadequate and foolish, a dunce. The walk to my destination is an excruciatingly long one, and I am somewhat thankful for this. It gives me time to ponder what this great, grandiose box of a house has supplemented me with for the seventeen years of my life.

And I come to the conclusion that it is not much. Empty, trivial words planted within me by the Lord and his Lady, my dear parents, the wooden occupants of this gilded doll house. Pretty boxes brimming with insubstantial playthings; a child's life, a cloud of golden cauldrons and shiny mahogany brooms that rained upon me. It blinded me.

I have swept all of those childish occupancies into the rubbish bin; I no longer have the desire to dwell upon such vapid possessions. They are meaningless to me. My father does not understand this at all. He still collects his pretty objects and trinkets, hoping, in delusive thinking, that he can create the facade of a greater man than he truly is. The Dark Lord is not won by crystal goblets or caviar on toast points, though. _She _knows this, as she has so pompously reminded me.

Her. Bellatrix Lestrange. The smirking, slinking panther that is my Aunt. She who I go to now like a suicide being sowed in by the reaper.

She, who disgusts me with her outright bawdiness, yet reels me in to the point of adulation at her loyalty, her charm, her aura. She is the only hope this family has. I sniffed that out long ago, and have since been slowly simmering in the stew of her aphrodisiac bait.

Her desire to devour me has been no secret since her arrival here two years ago. I have watched her, just as she watches me like a jungle cat circling a sizable meal. Her eyes feel like acid rain on me sometimes. I cower in her presence. Yet she fascinates me in inexplicable ways:

She presented me last Christmas with the hollowed out skull of a former house elf. It was painted red, and reeked of foulness. It now sits upon the mantel of the fireplace in my bedroom, empty eye sockets reminding me nightly of what an abysmal yet exquisite creature my Aunt is.

And when I came of age, she found it most appropriate, most _amusing _to give me a vial of inky black potion, wrapped in animal skins and tied off with the tail of a Manticore (I don't even want to know how she came about that) which she only told me I should take for the time when "your sweet cock is ready." I shoved it under my bed, but I am thinking maybe now a swallow would have done me good for what I am about to do.

All too soon, all too late, I am in front of her bedroom door, my hand clenched around the doorknob like a large, shaky insect. I push it open in a sudden rush of courage. She does not believe in knocking nor in privacy; she keeps her door shut to please my mother, to shield her from the abstruse acts committed within her room, acts my mother deafens herself to.

The room feels heavy, cold, a great corpulence of premonitions. I am suddenly aware of the fact that my Aunt's bedroom is the only room in the house I have never set foot inside of. It is not a pretty room; bones of small animals are scattered about one side of the floor, and there is a sickeningly cloying scent of cauldron smoke and wine.

She is sprawled upon the bed, the only adequate item in the room. She is reading a yellowed book, and as I creep closer, I catch the word _vivisection _etched onto the cover in gaudy gold script. Leave it to my Aunt, to immerse herself in sweet bedtimes tales of spliced animals.

I clear my throat, feeling like a great statue in a barren field. Her book drops, and her face awakens with delight.

"Draco! What a pleasant surprise. I've been wondering when you would come to me."

Her voice feels like a peal of flames licking my spine. My knees quiver. I am aware that my hands are shaking, as she crawls across the bed on her knees. She is wearing a black robe of silk that brings to mind spiders and ardent fingers. It doesn't do a very good job of what it was intended for; I can spy the heavy slope of a breast, topped off with a flushed cerise nipple. She makes no attempt to conceal this faux pas.

She slides off of the bed, feet slapping the floor, and advances on me. I notice her lips are painted the color of mulberries, and I find this unsettling for some inexplicable reason. It doesn't look quite right.

"Not a child anymore, are we, my dear one?" She cuts into my thoughts like a butter knife, dull and ineffectively. She has my attention the next second though, when her hand latches between my legs, yanking and prodding.

"Such a shame I could not be here to watch you become a man. Or to...teach you." She laughs erotically, suggestively at this.

"But those are, of course, the sacrifices I proudly gave up for our Master. And you, sweet one, must be prepared to do the same. But that is all talk for an allocated night. Tonight, we play. As we both know we have wanted to for quite some time."

I watch that red tongue slither over her top lip briefly, and feel a bout of anger when it disappears into the recesses of her mouth. _I want that tongue, _I suddenly realize, _I want it licking every crevice of my body; I want it to stamp and lick me in a way that I become her possession. _

Her eyes are breaking me; my outer covering is starting to crack in rapid speed, and a new entity is emerging. I can label it as desire.

Unconsciously, my hand drifts to the opening of her robe, sliding over velvety skin, probing the gaunt flatness of her belly, down to meet the slippery folds of her cunt. My nail scrapes inside fleetingly, but she hisses and throws my hand back like wind.

"Not so quickly, precious. You will never learn to be a man, if you let childish wants come first. Tell me, Draco, do you like to stand on the edge of a knife? Sometimes...letting your foot teeter ever so slightly? And does the feel of the serrated metal on your flesh arouse you? Do you...hunger for tainted, rotten indulgences?" Laughter, like stones in a glass. Her eyes are ripping me. They have turned as thin as needles.

I tremble, instinctively, as she advances on me, but doesn't pounce, instead ruffling my hair, addling my mind: am I a toy, to be thrashed upon playtime, and disposed of when I can no longer provide adequate titillation? Or am I simply a pliable lump of clay, to be shaped into a hollow figure that will sit upon a pedestal for _her _to smirk at? I don't want to find out.

"You want to have a woman, sweet one? You want to play with pretty objects and see what lust can bring you? Very well. You are a _big man _after all, aren't you precious?" She spits words at me. I can't fathom what changed her mood from lust to scorn in so short time.

She backs onto the bed, playfully, like a child catching daddy long legs. I only hope she does not start to pull my legs off. Because I know she could.

"Sit, precious."

I don't move. I want her, oh dearest God in the skies, most wretched demons in the earth beneath, I want my own Aunt._ It's what I came for though_, isn't it, I keep repeating in my mind, as I watch the pallid flash of her hand slip under the robe, fingers wiggling at me, childish giggles like a rusty bell pealing from her throat.

Yes, I want her. But she can wait; I can wait. What is ten minutes, an hour, when we have been waiting months to destroy each other? Besides, she seems so eager to show me things, teach me, before I can devour her.

"Did I not tell you to sit, precious?" There is a minute flash, and her wand is projected at my face. I sit down hard, spitefully, in the mahogany chair across from her bed.

"Callow child you are. Weren't you ever taught to respect your elders? It isn't very respectful, dear one, to indulge yourself first, now is it? You want to fuck me, Draco? You want to shove that pretty cock of yours down my throat, in my cunt, or even up my arse? Oh, don't be so inane as to deny it, precious, for what else would you have come to me for in the night? You desire me. That is obvious enough. But before you can spurt your cum in my face, you need a lesson in how a woman pleases _herself. _I'm sure the _little girls _you frolic and caper with at school have taught you nothing. You are no virgin, Draco, in the scientific sense; it would be incredulous to even ponder on that thought. But to me you are a little boy who dipped his prick in a vat of milk and honey; you know nothing but safety, comfort. Coming to your Auntie Bella to quench your desires may destroy you...or, if you keep your cock to yourself until Auntie says so, you might very well discover the acme of titillation."

I hear the house-elf turning logs in the fire the floor below. The room has become a dungeon. What did I expect, really, coming to Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted murderess and Azkaban escapee? Coddling? Light cloying kisses along my neck? Of course not. She is naught but the human form of _Ophiophagus hannah, _the King Cobra, or Queen, in her case.

Oh, I know how she slithers around her prey, coiling around it's brain and squeezing, _squeezing _every last drip of rationality and propriety into a glass vial, which becomes her venom. I look at her and all I can see is a forked tongue, darting and_ tasting _the ripeness of me, aware that I am ready, after months and months and years of preparation. I am prepared for complete consumption by her wicked, seething carnality.

She does not wait for any retort to her lightning cloud of speech; she has instead edged back onto her bed, her craggy fingernails making spidery movements around the opening of her robe. I watch, a foolish rodent frozen in the charms of it's predator, as she peels the fabric off completely.

There are funny thoughts and words drifting in and out of my mind, as my eyes fall in a line down her naked skin. Words like _nefarious _and _dripping _and _swallow _pound against my brain, and I keep thinking _yesyesyesopenopenyourlegsauntie, let me SEE, let me IN. _But I do not say anything, and sit, like a child, in blissful splendor. I think of Pansy Parkinson, and how _soft _she was, a bit like dough, really; she wasn't at all sharp and solid and full of angles like Bella is. Bella, the serpent, alert even when shed of her skin, keen on sniffing the fear right out of her prey.

She pulls a pillow towards her, lips curled like a coil tight around her mouth. I imagine her tongue again, red and wet, possibly even forked, hissing at me. But she is mounting the pillow now, spreading her cunt to me, wiggling her fingers in an impish little wave, and I forget how serpentine she can be.

I see a spectrum of wet pink colors, a strip of pubic hair as rampant and sooty colored as the hair on her head, and a ghostly finger, rubbing as fast as if she is erasing something, over her erect clit.

My eyes, those deceitful means of sight, they trail up her body and suck in what they see. I do not think it possible, even if I were Obliviated in a moment's time, to scrape away the image of this pulchritudinous woman, shed of every layer of metaphorical skins, raw and naked in front of me. Her blood runs through the veins in my hands, there are shadows and hints of her in my face, but we will never be the same, we are related yet there is nothing of her that is in me. She is not, _cannot _be mortal, and I am merely a sack of flesh and bones that pretends to be something human.

I want to watch her, to know what it is to see the world turn golden and unleash splendor I have never imagined, but what I am, merely a human _boy_, deceives my wishes. I am still flesh, and the most abominable, the most wickedly, brilliantly crafted flesh on me is growing hard beneath my hands.

She is grinning at me still, like a panther, and even as she is slamming her cunt furiously into the pillow, her clit larger and more cerise in color than I thought possible for a woman, she is noiseless. Yet I know she is close to coming, the way her eyes widen and hook onto my face, and her lips soundlessly open and close. She stops abruptly, though. Her hand is pulling something out from under her bedcovers, a scrap of material like liquid, something slinky and full of swirled lace. Her knickers.

She tosses them across to me, still unwavering in the chair. I haven't an inkling what she wants me to do with them. But, cunt still spread open to me, eyes like a snake ready to strike, she tells me to, 'Fuck them, precious. Rub your cock on your Auntie's knickers like a dutiful nephew, now." And I know she is getting off on this, the entire idea of something that is a part of her spurting a part of me into her underwear, so she can collect it, savor it.

And it _is _erotic to me as well; thinking her cunt was aligned with this piece of material in my hands, that this cloth touched her everywhere I want to invade.

My cock is out, and her knickers are bunched around it in a whir of seconds; I am watching, as she stands up suddenly, arse bent over as she leans to pull something from under the bed. Black lacquer and silver, a serpents head. My father's cane.

I am too full of heady, hot feelings of arousal to be revolted that an object of my father's is being used as means of sexual indulgence on my Aunt, who is my own means of fantasy.

She is laying back now, slithering across the bed, legs open, knees bent upwards. That shadow, that mold of wickedly grinning lips is still upon her face, as she shoves the metal snake head inside of herself. And now she is not so soundless, there are echoes of a moral being spilling out of her as she shrieks, and my hand is pumping and thrusting her knickers over the head of my cock all the while, and things are moving fast. She is watching me still, her nipples are cerise and like knives; I think they are hard enough to shatter glass. And she is still thrusting the snake head in and out of herself, the metal shiny and actually _dripping _from her own arousal.

I think she is going to strike now; her eyes cannot be any more lustful, she smells like the grass and the earth, and the grooves of the ornamental snake head are scraping inside of her, and there is a quiver and a twisty, skating feeling in my belly, and I am spurting gobs of come into her knickers, she is shrieking like a banshee, I think I am part of her, I think we have twisted together and we are now gliding along the ground, devouring our prey and sinking venomous fangs into soft notions; we are poisoned.

Our breath is like a fog, it has clouded our hearing for the time being, and neither of us have heard silk slippers pad into the room; there is a shift of air in the room, and another form is in here with us.

Bella, a heap of limbs that are oddly blotchy and sticky with sweat, my father's cane resting between her legs, looks up. Her face breaks, then comes together again. That fiendish smile is sliding back in place, and I don't want to look, to know who could cause this caprice in attitude. I know though.

My father. Crumpled and poorly reconstructed since his escape from Azkaban. I see him now as a casing emptied and filled hurriedly back up with remnants of a soul, of humanity. He is the same on the outside, but he is ripped apart inside.

There is a predatory look in his eye that he is not bothering to conceal. I think it has always been there...he was just more skilled and apt to hide it. He is swallowing the picture of Bella looking like a black angel, wingless and amorous. I don't think he has noticed me yet. There are too many shadows.

"Dear, dear Bella; here I was, fast asleep, when I awoke and found myself fancying a spot of brandy. And the noises I heard! Well, I thought for a second we had an unaccounted , randy ghoul living with us! But I should have known, my dear, oversexed sister in law would be up at this hour...and with my cane, nonetheless!" He clicks his tongue. "Tsk, tsk, Bella. Fingers aren't providing for you these days? Oh, but you could have just said! I'd be more than pleased to extend a helping appendage of my own!"

I think I am going to choke; Bella's knickers fall from my hands like a tissue. They sound like an anvil hitting a block of cement when they touch the floor. I want to shove my cock back into my pants, but every noise, every movement, is a scream of exposure. I can't imagine my father being particularly pleased, when he himself has slunk in here with a head full of lust, to find his son getting off in front of his Aunt.

But it turns out I am wrong.

He spots me. Glass is breaking and my face feels red as blood. My hand is still limply latched onto my cock.

"Draco! Why, this is a rather eventful night, isn't it?" He sounds thrilled, almost amusingly so, like a child discovering a Galleon amongst their school things.

"She's gotten you too, then, has she?" His tone is mocking, but amused. I don't want to be equal with him. I don't want him looking at her with the same eyes as me. But God, I still want her, and she doesn't seem the least bit fazed to have an intruder on our little escapade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Draco." My face must be portraying signs of confusion. "Azkaban has not blinded me. I've seen you two looking at each other, like the incestuous little snakes you are, coiling around and around tighter and tighter and now you are devouring each other. Tell me, my dear son, is she still tight, after Merlin knows how many cocks she's taken? Have you perhaps, found some spell to reshape how loose you have become, dear Bella?"

I want to strike him. He hasn't any right to suggest anything of the sort to his wife's sister. But Bella merely looks amused, and smirks like a child.

"Would it sate your curiosity if you were to have me, Lucius? Would my little affair with Draco here not reach the ears of my husband, of my sister, of the Dark Lord, if I let you fuck me?" His face is a rock, but it's starting to crack. He blinks.

"Twenty-five years of pretending you had only your wand in your pocket every time you looked upon me, dear brother-in-law. Yes, I can see how it might break a man."

She is dancing around him now, tip toeing and giggling, and I think that the sound might crack my skull. She keeps chanting, _youwantit, youwantit, iknowyoudoiknow _and her shrill knife like laughter is bleeding out my ears; I want to vomit.

"Oh, ickle Draco here wants daddy to make up his mind now. Can't keep the young cock waiting, now can we Lucius? Don't won't the poor boy to _hurt_ himself, hmm?"

She has stopped her little parade, and stands firmly, breasts jutting out, pebble like nipples almost touching my father's arm. I want to draw her back, further, in a shadow, into a dark place. I want to hide her. I don't want him looking at her, I don't want him _hardening _for her. But his eyes are like hooks, and he is slowly pulling her towards him, hands on her arse, her shrieking, me shaking.

"Draco, don't just stand there precious! Come have your Auntie proper, and don't mind your father! He's not going to be here all the time, now!" I fear she might start up her chant again if I don't come to her, so I do. I want her anyways; it would be futile to deny that.

And I forget my father, and his hands, like flighty, mad spiders wriggling over her breasts, as I stand behind her, my hands touching her skin for the first time properly. I run a finger down the crevice of her buttocks, and she shivers, I feel her quake under my touch. I am thinking how I want to coil up inside of her, slither and poison her with my come, squeeze her in a death grip. I smell her hair, nose pressed against the frizzy nest, and it smells like a mixture of the garden outside, dirt and green things, but there is smoke, something red and sinful that I sniff out as well.

I kiss her shoulders, down her back, I don't even notice my father hardly, as my lips crawl down the backs of her legs. I bite her heel, and she shrieks like a stuck pig, but I can see the smile becoming part of her face again, and I bite the other heel.

I think how when I had first entered this room on this instantaneous evening, I wanted _her _tongue on me, in me, part of me. But I can't stop myself from making wet trails over all that bare skin, it seems such a waste not to. I am kissing under her arse now, licking her cunt from behind, and I wallow in the taste of her. She tastes like poison, sweetened with sugar. It's the most delicious thing I have ever tasted.

My father, still latched onto her breasts, is making noises I pray to forget, as Bella pulls him out of his pants, nails scratching like rusty forks.

My tongue is deep in her now, I feel as if I have cut it off and buried it inside of her. When my nose bumps into her clit, she makes noises that are for the most part, unintelligible. She is actually _dripping _onto my face, and I feel like a layer of glaze has been painted over it. I nudge harder at her, and she let's out a noise that I cannot name, something like a cross between a freight train and a cat being devoured by a rat. It frightens me. But my cock has thrust up even higher, I notice.

Standing up, feeling like everything inside of me is going to slowly drip out through every orifice, I brush my father aside. He makes no noise of protest, and simply stands behind her instead, like I knew he would.

I am face to face with her now, as close as I have ever been, scared, oh God so scared, but _why_? I have seen things, took part in ordeals that would shatter any sane soul, but when it comes to this exact second I have ran towards, I feel like drowning. Her eyes are not warm or inviting, but they are not turning me away, either. At this moment, she is just simply a woman. Not a murderess, not a serpent, not the devil's mistress. She is only a woman, wanting what is planted inside of every human being.

"Fuck me, Draco. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Do it _now_. Do it _hard_. Do it _good_." She is chanting at me again, and without regards to my father, I grab her around the hips, pulling her against me, _into _me like she's a fragment of myself.

My father, behind us. I try not to take notice of how he has entered her arse, how she doesn't scream at all, because she must have done this before, how he is slamming into her and slapping against her skin like he's flattening dough. Bellatrix and I, my _Aunt _and I, we are the only ones really here. I'm thinking I might be in love with her, as I pierce her over and over, and her eyes watch my face the entire time.

I think we might be the same person, we are so close right now, I can feel her heart hammering against me when she flattens her breasts on me. Her nipples slide against me like pink pellets of iron. I want to slide my hands over her arse, feel every bit of her at once, but I can't; my father is still behind her, and I don't dare even look at the expression on his face. The sounds he are making are enough to rattle my attention back to Bella. I find myself kissing her, and she is as shocked as I am, I think, at the way it feels. Like a waterfall of black, it's beautiful and ominous, to feel her lips like pillows against my own.

And her tongue is suddenly in my mouth, at the same time I feel heat like melted metal pour over my groin, rising slowly. She is watching me, and I go frantic, like a rabid animal, my hand reaching down and rubbing her clit, as I start to spurt into her, long, thick jets, and the force of my ejaculate makes her scratch her nails down my back, bite my tongue, and there is suddenly a stream of blood from our mouths. Our orgasms are so strong, we hadn't even felt the needly bite of each other's teeth on lips and tongues. Blood streaming down our fronts now, and I am still pulsing inside of her, she is still biting ever spot of flesh she can find on me. At the same time there is a loud grunt from my father, and she is whimpering again, yelping, as he shoots into her as well.

The blood has reached our groins, and as I soften and fall out of her, she smiles, reaching down, painting the mixture of come and ruby liquid across my lips. She kisses me, and I think she tastes like heaven. I think I am in love with a serpent.

* * *

**I do hope I can update more than every month and a half, haha. Even though this is only a series of oneshots, and not an actual story, I still feel bad haha...Still got plenty of interesting, weird ideas for Dracotrix though, so no worries. ;) Until next time-Mel xxx**


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